The Haunting Of Bechdel Mansion (2 page)

"I've got this under control, George,"
Anabelle said.

He raised his hands up defensively and back
away. "If you say so.” He turned and rejoined the party as a new
jazz track came blaring from the turntable speakers.

Julie took one step up the first stair and
could feel he mother’s stare. She turned her head slightly to see
her still there, arms crossed.

"I'm going!" Julie said. "Sheesh."

"Good night," Anabelle said in a steely
tone.

Her parents could be both loving and cold
depending on the situation. That evening, they seemed to have
little patience for her antics. She came to the middle of the
winding staircase to hear her mother finally walking away. She
peered over the side as the party resumed and guests returned to
their conversations. She wanted to find out more, but knew better
than to push it.

She headed back up the stairs eager to
continue record her findings in her diary. The party continued on
as she closed the door behind her, only muffling the music and
obnoxious laughter reverberating through the halls. Her blinds were
open and the night sky was amassed with blankets of tiny stars. She
approached her window and looked out into the courtyard below.
Beyond the flowing fountain she saw a line of luxury vehicles, a
few limos among them. Then from the shadows of the road leading
into the courtyard, she saw headlights.

Chapter Three

Party Crashers

Julie watched in wonder as a large white van
pulled into the courtyard and parked. It’s rusty exterior and
rattling engine made it out of place from the other guests’
vehicles. Perhaps the driver was lost. She kept watch as things
only grew stranger. The van’s headlights went out. The doors opened
and several figures emerged. Beyond the glow of the fountain, she
couldn’t tell who they were, but it seemed to be a lot of them.

A troubling feeling stirred in her gut.
Something wasn’t right. Something hadn’t seemed right about the
entire dinner party. As they approached the front door, she saw
five people dressed in black. They were wearing masks. Black ski
masks. The even had guns. Panic gripped her guts. She turned around
and rushed toward her door in hopes to warn her parents.

From the hall, she heard an abrupt slam of
the door in the foyer below. Several footsteps entered the house
right through foyer. They had a doorman, and Julie wondered how
they had gotten inside? She to the railing frightened and hoped
they weren’t as dangerous as they looked from her window.

A shiver went done her spine as the mystery
people entered the lounge came into view—five men, dressed in black
and wearing ski masks. They each had long guns. Rifles maybe. They
looked like something out of a movie. Surreal and nearly impossible
to make sense of. The guests remained oblivious to the intruders as
the music muffled their rapid approach in the open lounge area.

One of the masked men kicked over the
turntable unit, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. The
music stopped, followed by a large crash. Some of the women
screamed. The gunmen rushed forward and formed an arch as a large
man in the middle stepped forward, aiming his weapon at the
terrified guests.

"Hands up! Don't make a move!" he
shouted through his mask. "I want everyone in this room right
now.
Every swinging
dick
!"

Julie crouched down behind the railing in a
panic. She didn't know what to do. She hadn't been seen yet, but
that could quickly change. She thought of the nearest phone--in her
parent's room at the end of the long hall upstairs. She wanted to
act, but her legs wouldn't move.

"All of you. That's right, come on out," the
lead gunman continued as terrified guests packed into the lounge.
Julie peeked over the railing, shaking. She hadn't seen her parents
yet. Her brothers were in view with their hands up, frozen with
fear. The gunman paced around from side to side with the rifle
against his shoulder. He seemed satisfied with the fear they had
caused among the dinner guests.

"The first person I want to see is Mr.
George Bechdel." He paused, looking around and then aimed his rifle
at the group. "Let's go, Georgy boy. Front and center!"

From the stunned crowd, George stepped
forward. He was sweating and his hair was even more of a mess than
a few minutes ago. One of the other gunmen moved to him and pulled
him closer, pushing him on the ground as more screams followed. To
see her father helplessly tossed on the floor of his own home was a
terrifying sight. But things got even worse when her mother stepped
forward.

"Leave him alone!" she shouted. "Who are
you, and what do you want?"

From his knees, George raised his a hand up,
urging her to be calm. The lead gunman, however, had his own ideas
on dealing with her outburst. His smacked her across the face with
his gloved hand and sent her stumbling backwards. Several women
shrieked.

Infuriated, George jumped up. "You son of a
bitch!" He tried to tackle the lead gunman, but was instantly
subdued with the buttstock of one of the other men’s rifle,
clubbing him over the back. George collapsed on the floor,
dumbstruck and in agony. Julie wanted to scream out. She wanted to
do something, but couldn't she move?

"Don't make me do that again," the lead
gunman said.

Anabelle held her reddened face, glaring at
the gunmen with contempt. She bravely approached George and placed
a hand his should as lay on his stomach twisting and grunting.

"He'll be okay," the gunman continued. He
then looked to the rest of the crowd to address them. "Is everyone
here?" He glanced at Anabelle as she stroked George's head, pearls
dangling at her neck. "Is this all of your guests? Is there anyone
in the can?"

Anabelle looked away without response. She
then flinched as the gunman stepped closer. "Come on, Mrs. Bechdel.
My men don't have the time to search every room." He took a knee,
inches from her face. "Be honest with me, and no one gets hurt.
Fair enough?"

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she nodded
and looked around the room. "Everyone is here."

Pleased, the gunman stood up. "Where’s the
Drake family?"

After a brief hesitation the two parents
rose their hands from within the huddle group. "Great,” the gunman
said. “Come out here and join your friends."

Fearing for her family and herself, Julie
knew that she needed to run and call the police before it was too
late. The nearest phone was in her parent’s room down the hall. A
door they always kept locked. She turned from the staircase and
could see that the door was closed.

The lead gunman continued with demands for
wallets and purses. "Everything you have, just put it in the bag,"
he said as one of his men held out a burlap sack, approaching the
crowd.

Kate's father, Victor, tossed his thick bill
fold into his bag with creeping fury in his eyes. "Just take it and
get the hell out of here. Damn, punks."

"In time, Mr. Drake," the gunman said. He
then shifted toward George and kicked him lightly in the side. "Get
up, Georgy Boy."

George grunted in pain as Anabelle glared at
the masked man. "You don't have to kick him, you monster!"

The gunman stared down indifferent. "You
too. Both of you on your feet."

Anabelle helped George up, holding him as he
looked to their remorseless assailant and spoke. "We're willing to
cooperate with you. Please stop pointing your guns at us. You're
scaring people with this nonsense."

The gunman nodded, seeming to consider it.
He then rose a gloved finger with further instructions. "Everyone
get closer. Huddle together tight." As he spoke, two other gunman
took sides at both sides of the group. "My man are going on a
little pillage mission, and we can't have any of you running off.
Got it?"

The terrified guests looked at each other in
confusion. They were hesitant, and no one seemed to understand the
seriousness of their situation as the gunmen boxed them in like
cattle.

"Come on, people," the gunman continued.
"Don't make me have to ask again."

The guests reluctantly inched closer to each
other, forming a tight huddle. "Great!" the gunman continued. "Now
we can wrap this up."

Julie carefully ascended the stairs, but no
matter how light her movements, the steps creaked. She ducked down
immediately as the gunman went silent. She could feel him listening
as her heart beat wildly.

"Go upstairs and check it out," she heard
the gunman say to one of his men. "The rest of you, prepare to
fire."

An ocean of screams followed. Julie jumped
up and looked over the side to see the masked men aim their rifles
into the huddle as another one moved toward the stairs, closing in
on her. She turned and ran the moment she heard her father's voice
scream out, begging the men not to shoot.

Gunfire erupted in a cacophony of deafening
blasts. Julie stormed to her bedroom not looking back. She closed
the door, locking it. Her hands were shaking and she could barely
breathe. The shooting continued amidst the screams, initially
rapid, but then more spaced out to one final shot. Julie couldn't
fathom any of it.

She heard footsteps outside the door,
nearing her room slow and methodical. She turned off her bedside
lamp and looked to her window. It was her only chance to escape.
She ran over and unlocked it, without concern of anything she was
leaving behind. Though her diary had crossed her mind. It was
sitting on a nightstand in view, but there was no time. Her
doorknob moved. She pulled the window open, feeling the night
breeze hit her face. She looked down over the ledge to the thick
grass below.

She could climb down the terrace on the
side, but doubted she had the time. The doorknob jiggled, followed
by a bang at her door. Her best bet was to run. She climbed out the
window, legs, dangling in the air, and said a quick prayer.

She leapt out just has her door kicked open
and hit the moist grass like a lead weight. A pain shivered up her
leg as she looked around in panic. Her adrenaline was on overdrive,
but she couldn't shake off the confusion and disorientation.

She turned to run and collided with the
waist of a man, smacking her face into his thick belt buckle. She
flew back, feeling dazed. She covered her face in pain, blocking
the man from sight. She couldn't tell whether he was friend or foe.
However, she learned quickly as soon as he spoke.

"Where you off to, little darlin'?"

It was the same man as before. The one whose
voice had sent shivers down her spine. She looked up and could him
towering over her, no longer wearing a mask but face nearly
concealed by darkness. She shuttered as he held his rifle up and
pressed against her forehead.

"I have to give it to you, you almost got
away."

Her legs locked as she shook in fear, tears
streaming from her eyes. She felt cold. Sheer terror tore her
stomach into knots. "No..." she said with a trembling voice.

The man paused with the barrel still pressed
against her head. She could see his long jaw and thick stubble on
his cheeks. Shaggy hair hung to the side over his forehead. His
eyes appeared as two black holes as though there was nothing
underneath.

"Don't worry. It'll be quick. You won't feel
a thing."

"Why?" she cried out.

After a heavy sigh, the man spoke. "Nothing
personal, sweetheart. Just business. Now close your eyes and go to
sleep."

She clenched her watering eyes as a white
burst of light pummeled her being followed by silent darkness that
consumed everything around her.

Chapter Four

Welcome to Redwood

For the longest time, the Bechdel
Mansion had remained an old, dusty, and vacant shadow of itself.
There was always some morbid fascination with the place in the
decades that followed. The town of Redwood had grown wary of the
association and tried to distance itself from the mansion and the
family
’s supposed curse. The Redwood city council
tried several times to have the house demolished and leveled, but
were met with resistance every time.

George Bechdel’s will rescinded all his
financial assets and properties to his bank to be invested
accordingly. The estate, he contended, must always remain. He
explicitly forbid the destruction of the mansion and/or liquidation
of the property. This, Bechdel’s lawyers explained, was
non-binding. What was the bank going to do with a one hundred year
mansion with such a history? Apparently they had several
offers.

Boris Sokolov, a wealthy Ukrainian
business man, moved his large family into the mansion one summer
day in June 1992. He had high hopes of remodeling the mansion and
suiting it to his families
’ elegant needs. Two weeks
after moving in, the Sokolov’s were out with little explanation to
their hasty departure. All of their furniture hadn’t even been
moved in yet.

In 1996, Christopher Taylor, a famous
Hollywood director leased the mansion to shoot his latest horror
movie. It only took a week for the trouble production to
immediately shutdown and Taylor was on his way back to California
with his demoralized cast and crew. Nobody ever said the reason why
as though they had been sworn to secrecy. Taylor never made a movie
again.

Five years later, the Bechdel estate found
another purchaser—a wealthy Manhattan land developer who had big
plans for the mansion. Eugene Garland moved his wife and four
children into the mansion. His family was largely oblivious to the
lore surrounding the mansion. Garland, himself, didn’t believe in
that kind of stuff. He died in his sleep from a heart attack three
weeks after moving in.

Then for a while, there were no buyers. No
tenants. No renters. No one wanted to go near the house, and to
prevent future financial liability, the bank constructed a six foot
high perimeter fence around the premises, complete with pointed
metal spikes at the top. It is there to this day, that the house
remains.